Harry Potter & the Friends of Dorothy
by minx
Summary: M/M Slash, humor, romance. Neville in drag, Draco in top form, Harry in turmoil
1. Into the Boyzone

Author's Notes: OK, so J.K. Rowling travels on a train and comes up with the original Harry Potter. I spend 21 hours on an airplane and come up with...this. Pure, unrepentant slash.

Acknowledgements to the many divas of the world including Sandra Bernhart, Sylvester and of course, J.K. Rowling.

HARRY POTTER AND THE FRIENDS OF DOROTHY

Part 1: Into the Boyzone

A little after 10:00 on a warm summer evening, Harry Potter stood in front of a neon sign reading "The Excalibur Club." Pulling a scrap of parchment from his pocket, he double-checked the address Neville had given him. This was definitely the place, but Harry couldn't help but be surprised over the fact that Neville had sent him to a nightclub of ill repute.

"But after the day I've had, a drink might really hit the spot," reasoned Harry, and walked inside.

Instead of the mellow atmosphere of a place like the Leaky Cauldron, however, walking into the Excalibur was like walking into a wall of noise. A pulsating disco beat reverberated around Harry, and he could see a performer on stage. Pushing his way forward, Harry experienced his second shock of the evening when he realized the dancer was Neville Longbottom, clad in short, sparkling and figure-hugging gold robes and matching gold lame heels. An enormous blonde wig completed his ensemble and he was belting out the lyrics to "Mighty Real." Harry watched for a few minutes, noted that Neville had nice legs, then remembered Ron had also said he'd stop by to watch Neville's premier performance and shoved his way back to the bar.

Perched on a barstool, Harry ordered a drink and applauded enthusiastically when Neville's number ended. As the next performer took the stage, Harry noticed Dean Thomas headed his way. Harry hadn't seen Dean in almost two years, not since they'd left school. Apparently Neville wasn't the only one to have changed: Dean had become a burly young man, his black t-shirt stretched tightly across his well-defined pecs.

"Harry! Glad you made it!" Dean grinned at him and sat down. "So what do you think?"

Harry wasn't sure if Dean was referring to Neville's act or the bar in general. "Not bad," he said cautiously.

But Dean wasn't listening. Instead, he stood up again as Neville approached them. Dean gave Neville a welcoming kiss then placed one arm authoritatively around his waist. "You were fabulous!" he squealed, then turned back to Harry. "Wasn't he?"

"Yeah, great, really good," Harry replied. He'd never known Dean and Neville were so close.

"Thanks for coming tonight, Harry," said Neville, adjusting his bosom. "It really means a lot. I think I've finally found something I'm good at," he enthused.

"You're a natural," agreed Dean.

Neville glanced around. "Is Ron here?"

"Not yet. When do you go back on stage?"

"In just a few minutes. I'd better get backstage, but I wanted to come say hello." Neville scampered off.

"Want a closer seat?" asked Dean.

"No thanks. I'll keep an eye out for Ron."

"Okay." Dean waded through the increasing mass of people, leaving Harry alone at the bar.

"Need a top-up?" The bartender pointed to Harry's empty glass.

"Yeah, thanks." Harry looked around, but still no sign of Ron. It was unlike him to be so late, and tonight Harry particularly wanted to see him so he could analyze the demise of his latest relationship. For although Harry Potter was a legend in the wizarding world, having survived countless attempts on his life by the Dark Lord, he was decidedly unlucky in love. His latest girlfriend had dumped him over dinner and Harry was starting to wonder just how many times he could listen to a witch begin a conversation with 'it's not you, it's me.'

But Ron didn't turn up and Harry kept drinking until a florid-faced wizard dressed in baby blue seersucker robes approached him. He looked oddly familiar, but it wasn't until the man spoke that Harry remembered who he was: Gilderoy Lockheart.

"Harry Potter!" he shouted. "Of all the handsome young wizards _I'm_ glad to see!" Despite the loud music, the entire club seemed to have become hushed as the patrons craned for a better look at Harry.

Lockheart swept over and motioned to a short, portly wizard with a dark moustache. "Clive! Here's your next cover of Wizard Rainbow Pages!"

The shorter man scurried over with a camera and quill. Lockheart continued speaking to Harry. "Can't say I'm surprised, of course. Ah, yes, I still reflect fondly on those many hours we spent together, addressing my fan mail. That was it, wasn't it?" Here he paused and gave Harry a knowing wink. "But you could have told _me_, at least!"

"Told you what?" Harry knew he'd had a fair amount to drink, but nothing Lockheart said made any sense.

"Tell me what!" repeated Lockheart, then turned to the crowd and rolled his eyes in mock annoyance. "All right, Clive, get ready to photograph Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile and -" he winked at Harry - "Its Sexiest Wizard Alive."

Harry shrank back as Lockheart made to place his arm around Harry and draw him into an embrace. "Really, I'd rather not -"

At that moment a muscular, young, blond man pulled the photographer aside and after a few tense words, both Clive and Lockheart backed off.

Harry slumped forward on the bar, head in his hands. He'd just been hit on by his old teacher. Could things get any worse?

Apparently they could. When Harry looked up he saw that his rescuer had been none other than Draco Malfoy.

"Close shave, eh Potter?" Malfoy leaned against the bar, cigarette in hand.

"I only came here to see Neville," Harry said wearily.

Draco glanced over at the stage. "Yes, he's not bad, if you like that sort of thing."

"What do you want?"

Draco feigned a hurt look. "Manners, Potter, manners. Here I do you a favor and that's all you can say to me?"

"Malfoy," said Harry between gritted teeth, "You never do anything merely out of the goodness of your own heart."

"For someone who's just been rescued from the clutches of that bloody chicken-hawk I'd think you could show a bit more gratitude." Malfoy took a deep drag, exhaled and turned his attention back to Harry. "What's a nice boy like you doing all alone on a Friday night?"

Harry groaned. "You sound like Mrs Weasley."

Malfoy grinned, stumped out his cigarette and said, "Trust me, Potter. Weasley's mum and I aren't talking about the same thing."

Giving up trying to make any sense of the evening, Harry just shook his head and sighed.

"C'mon. Let's get out of there." Malfoy shoved some Galleons at the bartender and tugged at Harry's sleeve.

"Where are we going?" asked Harry as he followed Malfoy outside.

"I want to show you something."

**

Malfoy took Harry far from Diagon Alley and deep into Muggle London. They paused outside a dark, windowless club bearing only a small sign reading "Salem's Lot."

"After you," said Malfoy, ushering Harry inside.

Unlike Excalibur, this club was completely dark, devoid of disco and without any visible patrons. A burly man at the desk greeted Malfoy then jerked his head at Harry. "Who's the geek?"

"He's with me." Draco placed a firm hand between Harry's shoulder blades, which Harry found oddly thrilling, and they descended a flight of stairs.

"What is this?" demanded Harry as he took in the sight of men in leather, men in handcuffs, men with whips.

"This is where I work." Draco proudly surveyed his surroundings.

"But . . .all these people - they're Muggles!"

"Yeah, I know."

"But you hate Muggles!"

Draco's pleased expression faded. "Yes, well, it's the only place I can work, the Muggle world."

Harry laughed. "Right. Only place Lucius Malfoy's son can get work is in a Muggle prison."

"This isn't a prison, Potter," hissed Malfoy. "Muggles pay lots of money for this."

Harry stopped laughing. "They pay for this?"

"And for me to teach them how. After Father disowned me I didn't have many options."

"Your father disowned you?" asked Harry slowly, then winced as a nearby man wielded a cat o'nine tails. "But why?"

"For someone who's supposedly the savior of the wizarding world you're awfully thick. Look at me!" Draco placed his hands on his well-whittled waist. "I'm a bloody pouf! Wouldn't marry Pansy Parkinson, wouldn't join the Death Eaters. Didn't sit too well with Father."

"But why this?"

Malfoy chuckled, a cold familiar sound Harry knew so well from their years at Hogwarts. "What else am I fit to do? The magical community is small, Potter. If I wasn't going to play by Father's rules there really was no place for me. None of your goody-two-shoes friends would have hired me. So now I work here." He shrugged. "After all my years with Father it seems quite natural."

Harry stared. "But Malfoy, if you've really rejected the Dark Arts, why come here? All you're doing is teaching people how to inflict pain."

Malfoy was silent for a moment. When he turned and spoke, his grey eyes shone brightly in the dungeon gloom. "No, Harry. It's not about pain. It's about testing your limits. It's about trust." He walked quickly away.

Harry darted up the stairs after him. "Hey! You called me Harry!" They were outside again and Harry pulled Malfoy around to face him. "You've never done that before."

"First time for everything, isn't there?" They stood staring at each other, Harry breathing hard from having run up all those stairs.

Finally a shadow of a smile crossed Malfoy's face. "C'mon, I'll take you home."

"I can get home on my own." Harry certainly wasn't going to admit to Draco Malfoy that everything seemed to be spinning slightly.

"Right. If I let you go like this you'll wind up with a drink-flying charge, and if you Apparate you're liable to splinch yourself. My place is nearby. I'll make you some coffee."

But instead of coffee, Harry found himself having a nightcap.

"What've you been drinking all night?" asked Draco, opening his liquor cabinet.

"Ogdens Old Firewhisky and water."

Malfoy grimaced. "Try this. It's single malt." He poured a bit of amber liquid into two glasses and handed one to Harry.

Draco settled himself across from Harry and regarded him intently. "Having a good night, Potter?"

"No!" Harry burst out. "This has been a terrible night. First my girlfriend dumps me and now I'm at your flat."

"I should take offense at that last remark, but considering the other one, I'll overlook it." He took a swallow of his own drink. "So what do you want to do about it?"

"About what?"

"About how you feel. What you want to do." Malfoy's eyes gleamed.

"What makes you think you know _anything_ about what I want?" challenged Harry, meeting Malfoy's gaze.

Draco's eye contact remained unrelenting. "I've known ever since I took you out of that club. And I think you know it, too. Only question is have you got the guts to follow through?" He leaned forward until they were only inches apart. Harry could smell him - a mixture of sweat and smoke and the night.

"I'm going home," he said, standing up.

Malfoy rolled his eyes and gave Harry a sardonic smile. "Chicken," he whispered, then stood up and said, "The bed's down the hall. I'll take the couch. Just let me get a pillow and some blankets."

"You don't have to -" Harry began, then dashed after Mafloy into the bedroom.

Malfoy's bed was unmade and he turned from gathering up pillows at the sound of Harry's step. Still giving Harry that maddening smile, he said nothing.

Harry took a step closer and locked eyes with Malfoy. This was the second time in only a few minutes they'd been so close and the proximity made his heart race strangely. Malfoy had the flashy kind of looks Harry had always prevented himself from admiring until now. And really, he reminded himself, Malfoy wasn't such a bad person. Afterall, he _had_ rescued Harry from Lockheart. Without further thought, Harry placed both hands on Malfoy's shoulders and kissed him hard on the mouth.

He tasted of beer and cigarettes, Harry noted, which he would normally find repulsive, but then again he wouldn't normally kiss Malfoy.

When they broke apart, both were breathing hard. Draco's expression had become harder to read - he almost looked wondering, if he was capable of such an emotion. He stripped off his t-shirt, revealing a muscular upper body - complete with washboard abs - and met with no objection when he reached out for Harry's shirt.

Harry experienced a fleeting thought of insanity, but it all felt so good, as if something was impelling him to touch Draco. But it wasn't the Imperius Curse that made him kiss Draco again and again. His heart pounded and his whole body felt jittery and weak, even as he pressed hard against Malfoy. When his trousers hit the floor, Harry moaned and tumbled into the unmade bed.

**

"Where am I?" Harry blinked at the strange room. The bedclothes were all shoved to the bottom of the bed and a fetid odor seemed to emanate from the room.

Harry groped around the bedstand for his glasses. When he slid them on, the room came into sharper focus and the first thing he saw was a bottle of LubeMagic next to his watch, and an opened box of Patronus brand condoms. Shaken, Harry pulled off his glasses and stared at the ceiling. So it really had happened. Flashes of the night before - running his own bare leg down Malfoy's rough, muscular calf, the feel of Malfoy's mouth on him - came unbidden. Harry felt slightly nauseated, but he wasn't sure if this was from his encounter with Malfoy or drinking too much scotch.

"Breakfast, sunshine." Malfoy lounged in the doorway, clad only in a pair of Slytherin boxers and wielding a spatula in a suggestive manner. "Oh, are we a bit hungover this morning?" he continued in the same sarcastic tone. "Try this." He sent a bottle of Hangover-Be-Gone at Harry. "If I could sell that stuff to Muggles I'd be richer than my father."

Harry swallowed two capsules. He still felt tired but the nausea had gone and the room stopped spinning. "Do you mind?" he asked when Malfoy remained draped against the doorjam.

"So modest this morning! Fine, I'll be in the kitchen." When Malfoy had flounced away, Harry searched for his clothes. After pulling on his rumpled shirt and trousers, he reached again for his glasses and attempted to flatten his hair.

In the small kitchen, which was just as untidy as the bedroom, Malfoy had prepared two plates of scambled eggs. Harry noticed he had put on a t-shirt, and his eyes roamed around the area, taking in the piles of laundry adorning much of the furniture.

"Malfoy, you're a slob," he said, sitting down and beginning to pick at his food.

"I've never picked up after myself in my life. Why start now? I've got a client who does cleaning - I'm sure he'd love to come over and scrub my floors with a toothbrush," Malfoy replied, unperturbed by his disorganized decor.

After several minutes of silence, Harry spoke again. "So do you go to the Excalibur often?"

Draco finished chewing and swallowed. "Most nights, yeah. But I work evenings a lot, too." He held up a forkful of egg and said, "But I don't recall seeing _you_ there before."

"That's because I've never been."

"Yeah, I guess you're not really the club type. Keep it at home, do you?"

Harry shook his head. Noticing his guest's shell-shocked expression, Malfoy put down his fork and said, "Don't tell me last night was your first time."

"What's it to you?"

Malfoy was staring as if Harry were a unique specimen. "What did you _do_ in the Gryffindor dormitories all those years?" he demanded incredulously. "Sing the school song?" Shaking his head, he attacked his eggs again. "Even Hufflepuffs got more action than you lot."

"Shut up."

Malfoy perked up at the sound of irritation in Harry's voice. Narrowing his eyes he said, "Or did you get some after all? Did you and your beloved Weasley share nights of tender passion?"

"Shut up!" Harry jumped to his feet and glared across the table. "Leave Ron out of this."

Malfoy assumed an expression of obviously fake concern. "Oh dear. I've gone and put my foot in it again. Eat your breakfast."

"No thanks. I'm not hungry." Harry pushed in his chair and headed for the front door.

"You know where to find me!" called Malfoy through a mouthful of eggs, merrily waving his fork as Harry stomped out.

Once on the landing, Harry leaned against a wall. "What have I done?" he wondered. If only Ron had turned up last night none of this would have happened. Harry began to feel cross. Where had Ron been, anyway? He could've at least owled if he had to cancel. At least Ron would never know what he, Harry, had done last night. "Even if I have to put a memory charm on Malfoy," vowed Harry, and headed for home.

**

Harry returned to his flat to find the table littered with owls from Ron, each growing increasingly frantic. "Fine for him to worry," thought Harry grumpily. He'd just have a shower and shave, then reply.

As soon as Ron received Harry's owl, he Apparated right over. "Where have you been?" he demanded.

"Where have _I_ been? You're the one who stood us up last night."

"Didn't you read your owls?" Ron gestured to the pile of parchment. "Something came up and I couldn't meet you. My message must have just missed you."

Harry shook his head. "Whatever. It doesn't matter."

Ron looked at his friend more carefully. "Blimey, Harry. You look terrible. Late night with -"

Harry cut him off. "Late night, yes, but not with her. She broke up with me over dinner."

"So you spent the night getting smashed with Neville?"

"Something like that, yeah." Harry crossed the room and took a seat. "What do you know about Dean and Neville?"

Ron looked taken aback. "What do you mean?" he stammered.

Harry removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. Replacing the glasses, he said, "That club where Neville performed - I think it's a gay bar."

Now Ron burst into laughter. "Reckon so? Yeah, they're gay, so what?"

"You knew?"

Ron looked uncomfortable again. "I had an idea, yeah."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"Dunno. We only just got in touch with them again, right?"

Harry nodded. "Well, you missed an evening of Neville in gold lame."

"Sorry. So, about this witch -"

"It's nothing. We didn't date that long." Last night Harry had thought he wanted to talk about this girl with Ron. But after all that had happened, someone else was filling his thoughts right now. Someone blond and muscular and handsome . . . Harry pulled a cushion over his lap, propped his head in his hands and closed his eyes. "I think I need to lie down," he said to Ron.

Ron looked at Harry intently. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"Fine, fine." Harry reclined on his sofa and waved Ron away. "I'll owl you later."

"Okay." Ron drew his wand and with a last, worried glance at Harry, Disapparated.


	2. Rough Trade

Author's Notes: In case the title, subtitle, and summary weren't enough to tip you off, this is SLASH and yes, everyone's gay. Except Malfoy's parents. LupinLover - thanks for your patience - I _will_ write a straight story one of these days but this isn't it. Did I mention it was a long flight? And listening to Dimitri From Paris over and over can really affect a person. Anyway, this is all in fun: it's parody, camp, realism at minimum.

Acknowledgements: Thanks to Aurengzebe and his memorable apple tart.

My biggest thanks to the inimitable Cassandra Claire, whose wonderful Draco Sinister has inspired so much admiration, for kindly allowing me to include a line that comes from responses to her own latest chapter, and is here echoed by Harry.

HARRY POTTER AND THE FRIENDS OF DOROTHY

Part 2: Rough Trade

Although Harry had vowed to use a memory charm on Malfoy if necessary, he began to think perhaps he was the one whose memories needed to be modified. Try as he might, Harry couldn't banish recurring thoughts of Draco. That these thoughts typically involved himself and Malfoy without many clothes made the images that much worse. 

Harry tried to recall the many times Malfoy had tormented him at school, yet even these memories, when combined with those of the other night, made Harry want Malfoy all the more. He'd never been in such close proximity to Malfoy before and knowing how it had felt to touch him made Harry anxious to repeat the experience. Besides, Malfoy had said he'd left the Dark Arts. Wasn't it Harry's duty to take Malfoy under his care, to aid in his reformation? Harry's independent income, not to mention having already defeated Voldemort meant Harry didn't have much to do these days. He felt sure that with time, he could help Draco forget his emotionally deprived childhood and become a contributing member of society.

When Saturday evening rolled around, Harry found himself trying on a number of outfits in anticipation of returning to the Excalibur. Although Harry didn't have the muscle definition of someone like Draco or Dean, he did have an athletic build and noticed that most of the wizards at the club dressed to enhance their physique, which would explain why Lockheart shrouded himself in billowy robes.

Part of him - a large part - told him to just go, get whatever it was out of his system. But a smaller, nagging voice reminded him how complicated his life would become if he hooked up again with Malfoy. He'd already had one guilty panic, why risk it again? But Ron wouldn't be there, Harry reminded himself sternly. Besides, much as Harry wanted Malfoy, he also knew that Malfoy had wanted him the other night, for whatever reasons. Promising himself he'd only stay an hour, Harry left for the club.

**

Cheerful dance music still filled the Excalibur, but there were fewer people and a mellower atmosphere when Harry returned. Yet as Happy Hour became hours, more wizards filled the dance floor until it was as crowded as Friday night.

Harry kept a close eye out for Malfoy and was rewarded by spotting him dancing with his shirt off and wearing very short, frayed cut-offs that were so tight he could barely pack in his wand. Setting down his fourth empty beer glass, Harry slid off the barstool and joined the dancing throng. 

Malfoy seemed very into his dancing and gave Harry only a perfunctory nod as he sidled up. Harry hoped for a chance to talk when the song ended, but the music just seemed one long remix of the same beat. Finally Harry cupped his hand and shouted into Malfoy's ear, "I need to talk to you!"

Malfoy nodded and followed Harry off the dance floor. "What's up?" He took the shirt he'd tucked into his belt and wiped his sweaty brow.

"I just thought we should talk, you know, about the other night."

"Yes, I was terribly hurt when you didn't owl me later," quipped Malfoy.

Harry tore his eyes away from Malfoy's glistening chest. "Really?"

"No, of course not." Malfoy gave him a disgusted look. "So, come to make amends for stomping out of my kitchen like that?" He removed a pack of cigarettes, pounded the box against his palm, then selected one and lit up. "Want one?"

"No thanks." Harry was beginning to feel very foolish.

As he smoked, Malfoy's eyes flickered across Harry's body. "You seem to have worked up quite a sweat," he observed. "Maybe you'd better take off that shirt."

"Here?" squeaked Harry, glancing around the crowded room.

Malfoy snorted. "Sexiest Wizard Alive. How _do_ you do it, Potter?" Tossing his cigarette to the ground and grinding it under his boot heel, Malfoy said, "Alright then, let's go."

Harry followed him towards the loo and into a wooden cubicle. Malfoy slid the bolt into place, locking them in. Harry's eyes widened as Malfoy began to undo his own fly.

"If you need to use-"

Malfoy swiftly placed his right hand against the wall near Harry's left ear, blocking him. "If I had to take a piss, stupid, I wouldn't be locked in here with you, would I?"

Harry swallowed hard. "I guess not." Something about having Malfoy hulking over him like this was simultaneously terrifying and arousing. He felt Malfoy's hands roughly undoing the buttons on his jeans and gave a little gasp as Malfoy leaned closer and began to kiss him, razor stubble grazing Harry's face. Just when he was beginning to worry about what to do, Malfoy took him firmly in hand.

Eventually, that certain _frisson_ that comes to a boy in love - or at least the throes of passion - brought Harry gasping against Malfoy's sturdy chest. He held Harry for a few moments, his own head resting on Harry's shoulder, then pushed him back hard against the wall and kept his hand on Harry's chest. Draco leaned in close and stared into Harry's green eyes. "_Ma shi ai, Da shi teng_, Potter," he whispered teasingly and his eyes had that same odd, shining look Harry remembered from the other night.

"What?"

"Scolding is loving, beating is affection," Malfoy translated, panting hard. "Chinese saying my family's rather fond of - didn't you ever get that in your fortune cookie?"

Harry shook his head and the two of them remained inches apart. Just when Harry thought Draco might kiss him again, Malfoy abruptly pulled back, did up his fly and banged out of the stall without another word. Harry remained slumped against the wall, still trying to catch his breath but quite certain the encounter had not ended as he'd envisioned.

"Draco, wait," he cried, quickly buttoning his jeans and hurrying after the blond. Across the room, he spied Malfoy exiting the club and shoved his way over to the front door. "Wait!"

Out on the sidewalk, Malfoy turned and paused. "What now?"

Harry reeled at the hard tone. Malfoy didn't seem to be joking now; he really did look irritated. "Don't you want to. . . that is, doesn't any of this mean anything to you?"

"Potter, you really are unbelievable. Haven't you ever heard of casual sex?" Malfoy stared at Harry and noticed his genuine distress. In a voice only slightly less impatient he explained, "Only lesbians move in together after two dates. Not that I'd call what we've been doing dating. Besides, I'm not into monogamy."

Harry remained speechless. He couldn't believe Draco could treat him so callously. He'd been a fool to imagine there was anything deeper between the two of them. Silently, he turned and walked back into the loud, dark club.

Mind still reeling, Harry ordered another beer. What was it Mrs Weasley was always saying to Ginny? That virginity was a precious gift that could only be given once. And here he'd squandered it on someone as unappreciative as Draco Malfoy. Harry rested his head in his hands. He should never have come back. What would people say? He could just imagine himself being announced at the Hampstead home his godfather Sirius shared with Harry's favorite teacher, Remus Lupin. _Sirius, it's your effeminate godson again_, Lupin would say and the two of them would snicker at Harry. He reached for his glass and downed the beer in one gulp.

**

Unbeknownst to Harry, Sirius was at that moment locked in a steamy embrace with Remus. "You know," Sirius began when they paused for breath, "we really should invite Harry up here next weekend. I hear that cute little witch he was seeing has dumped him."

Remus frowned. "Isn't that the sixth witch to break off with him this year?"

"Yes, he doesn't seem to be doing well in that department, does he?"

Remus pulled Sirius closer, running his hands appreciatively over his partner's muscular torso. "Maybe he's just playing for the wrong team."

Sirius pulled back in surprise. "Do you think so? Our little Harry?"

"He's not so little any more, believe me." Remus tweaked Sirius' nipple ring. "Maybe it's time to have that father-son talk."

"Maybe so." Sirius continued to look astonished for a few moments more, then returned his attention to Remus. "Let's ask him to dinner next Sunday, then."

"Anything you say." Remus smiled. There weren't many men who could look good in bikini briefs, but Sirius was one of them. In fact, Remus was of the opinion that Sirius looked good in anything. "You've been ordering from _International Wizard_ catalogue again, haven't you?" he murmured, sliding down along the sofa.

Sirius didn't answer. Suddenly all thoughts, whether of Harry or his own consumer habits, were driven out of his mind by Lupin's amazingly dexterous tongue.

**

"Less swish, more starch," decreed Ron. He, Harry and Dean were watching Neville walk back and forth across Harry's living room. Neville had been invited down to his Great Uncle Archie's house in Brighton, and was anxious to project a suitably manly attitude.

Dean sat on the sofa, arms crossed over his chest and looking grumpy. "I don't see why you're going to all this trouble," he fumed. "You should just be yourself."

"But Dean, Gran will be there, too. I can't very well tell her I've started wearing witches' robes now, can I?"

"You ought to be raiding her wardrobe," retorted Dean. "I'll bet she has some good stuff you could use. Besides, what does it matter what she thinks? You have to admit, wizarding attire is pretty fey to begin with."

Neville gasped. What did he mean? "What do you mean?" he asked.

"I mean," Dean explained irritably, "that most Muggles would think all robes, wizard or witch, look like something a woman would wear."

Neville looked to Harry for confirmation. "Is that true?" He'd had a very sheltered life and only rarely ventured into the Muggle world.

Harry had to agree with Dean. He knew how his Uncle Vernon felt about seeing grown men in wizarding robes. "Yeah. That's why we're supposed to wear Muggle clothes in public, so we blend in better."

Neville shuddered. Thank goodness he'd packed his shiny orange polyester pants and a matching shirt for the journey to the beachside resort. He certainly wouldn't want to attract attention to himself.

"What do you think of Neville and Dean?" Harry asked Ron when the duo had left.

"Neville and Dean," mused Ron. "Sounds like they should be in pairs figure skating, doesn't it?"

"Ron! You've been watching Muggle sports again, haven't you?" chided Harry.

Ron looked abashed. "You know how Dad loves Muggle objects. He's got a television now and well…" Ron trailed off.

He was spared further explanation by the arrival of Hedwig, who flapped her wings with importance as she landed on the coffee table, bearing a single sheet of parchment.

Harry removed the message and read it. "Sirius and Remus have invited me up for dinner this weekend. Want to come along?"

"Sure." Sirius had a knack with puff pastry and Ron never turned down an opportunity to sample it.

**

The day of the dinner, Harry and Ron ran into Sirius while in Diagon Alley. Sirius was just closing up the small antiques shop he ran. After Harry had vanquished the evil that was Voldemort during his last year at Hogwarts and Sirius had finally been cleared of all criminal charges, it seemed there was nothing left to do but indulge his final, secret passion: antiques. He had opened the shop a year ago and was slowly trying to build a clientele.

"Well, this is a surprise!" he declared as he locked the front door. "I wasn't looking for you until later this evening."

"Just doing a bit of window shopping," said Harry.

Ron nodded hello, but his attention was drawn to the Louis XIV writing table displayed in the shop window. "Is that a new piece?" he asked Sirius.

"Yes, and you have a very good eye. That table has been favored by heads of state for centuries - all you have to do is put quill and parchment on the surface and it writes thank-you letters for you. Interested in antiques, are you?"

Ron blinked and looked away from the furniture. "No, not really," he muttered, turning pink.

Sirius seemed not to notice. "Since we're all here, why don't you boys come with me to pick up a few things for dinner? Remus was called out on a case this morning so I'll be cooking tonight."

Harry looked up swiftly at the mention of Lupin. "What sort of case?"

"No idea. He got an owl early this morning and said he'd be back in time for dinner. Now we've got that laboratory set up in the back room, so Remus can do more work from home." After quitting Hogwarts, Remus had started working as a detective for the Department of Magical Mysteries.

By the time Remus returned the small house was filled with the smell of delicious cooking. Ron, Harry and Sirius each wore candy-striped aprons and they were putting the finishing touches on a fresh apple tart.

Remus remained in the fireplace for a moment, taking in the domestic scene. He always enjoyed having the boys around, and coming off this latest case he felt even more relieved to see Harry, in particular, looking so well.

Going up to the boy wizard, Remus gave Harry a fierce hug. "Good to see you."

Harry choked slightly at being engulfed in Remus' strong grip, but managed to reply, "Nice to see you, too."

Remus hugged Ron as well, and smiled at them all.

"Important case?" asked Sirius, untying his apron and turning worried eyes to Remus.

Lupin's expression darkened. "Yes." He looked again at the two boys, then announced, "Draco Malfoy has been kidnapped. Taken from his own bedroom."

Harry gasped and dropped a trivet. "What? Who could have done this?"

"That's what we're working on. He's been estranged from his parents ever since leaving school, but now his father is very anxious to recover his son." Remus set down the briefcase he carried. "I'll need to run some tests after dinner on some samples I picked up. Might be a clue somewhere."

"Let's run the tests right now!" Harry suggested. Despite the harsh treatment he'd received from Draco, Harry still cared about him. Then a terrible thought struck him. What if Draco wasn't around to be found? What if he'd been killed by his attackers? _No_, the sound of over a hundred anguished fanfiction voices pounded in Harry's head, _Draco's too hot to die_. Recalling the last time he'd seen Draco in those tiny cut-offs, Harry was inclined to agree.

Ron turned and stared at Harry. "Since when do you care what happens to Malfoy?" he demanded. The apple tart held much more appeal for him than did trying to track down their worst enemy.

But Harry ignored Ron. "What do you know about the situation?" he asked Remus.

Remus sat down at the dining table and snapped open his case. "Not much," he admitted. "The kidnapper did leave a ransom note written on the bed sheets, however. Here's a fabric sample."

Harry took the swatch of material and examined it between special tongs. Holding it up to the light, he immediately noticed something odd. "This can't be right," he murmured.

"What's wrong?" Ron asked.

"These aren't Malfoy's sheets," Harry announced authoritatively. "This is a thin, poly-cotton blend, and Malfoy only sleeps on cotton percale, 250 thread count minimum."

He looked up, expecting to see the others looking at him with respect at his eye for detail. Instead, they all regarded him with varying expressions of surprise and dismay.

"Do I want to know how you happen to know that information?" Ron asked warily.

Harry blushed and ignored the question. "This is all a set up. The only question is why?"

Remus and Sirius exchanged looks. Remus spoke first. "Very good, Harry. I agree it's a set up, but more because of the ransom note's contents than anything else."

"What's it say?" Ron was anxious to avoid hearing further details about Malfoy's sleeping habits.

"The kidnapper asked for only a thousand Galleons for Draco. Considering the Malfoy family's wealth, this is a paltry sum. Hardly worth kidnapping Draco and risking the wrath of Lucius Malfoy."

"Do you think it could be a trap?" asked Harry.

Remus nodded. "Possibly."

Sirius clapped his hands. "Enough detective talk. The food's getting cold. We'll talk about this after the meal."

Unfortunately, everyone was rather distracted during dinner. Ron kept sneaking looks over at Harry and wondering what his percale knowledge meant. Remus and Sirius, meanwhile, exchanged worried glances of their own. Sirius did hate it when Remus had to be gone on dangerous work.

Only the crisp, flaky tartlet proved inspiring enough to capture everyone's attention completely. As soon as they had finished eating and Sirius had started the dishes washing themselves in the sink, the group gathered again in the living room.

"Don't you think it's odd Malfoy's father would suddenly be anxious for his son's return?" Harry asked Remus. "If they haven't spoken in two years, why would Lucius care if anyone's taken his son? Why would he even care if Malfoy's returned safely?"

"That's what I thought," Remus murmured. "Something's not quite right."

Harry stood up. "I think we should go to the Malfoy manor. See if we can learn any more details."

"What?" Ron surveyed his friend with dismay. Here he'd looked forward to an evening of good food and possibly some tales of when Sirius and Remus were at school and used to beat up Snape - now Harry was proposing a visit to the Malfoys? Something was definitely not quite right.

"It will be next to impossible to get in there," said Remus. "Lucius always keeps a high level of security and now with this kidnapping…" he trailed off and shook his head.

"We can use Sirius as a decoy." Harry glanced over at his godfather. "Narcissa Malfoy has a thing for dark wizards. And up until last year you, Sirius, were considered the biggest dark wizard to have escaped from Azkaban. You know how women go for men who are dangerous, rugged and emotionally unavailable - I bet she'd be mighty curious to meet you," he suggested slyly.

Sirius blushed and looked discomfitted. "Well, really, Harry. I _was_ fully pardoned -"

But there was no time for false modesty. Harry took charge and said, "Sirius, you go to the front door and ask for Narcissa. The rest of us will sneak in when the door's open, under my Invisibility cloak."

Remus looked impressed. "I agree with Harry. There's no time to lose. The longer he's gone, the less Draco Malfoy's chance of survival."

**

The group soon found themselves outside stately Malfoy Manor. As Remus had predicted, security trolls patrolled the outer perimeter and no doubt a number of enchantments protected the estate from magical penetration as well.

Sirius looked particularly debonair that evening, and Narcissa immediately agreed to see him. Harry, Ron and Remus followed fast on their heels. Yet no sooner had Narcissa poured Sirius a glass of vintage port and begun to share her worries about Draco than her husband could be heard in another room, screaming at a servant.

Narcissa turned an anxious face to Sirius. "You'd better hide. Lucius has been in a terrible temper ever since Draco disappeared. Quick, run and hide. I'll try to think of some way to distract him."

Harry, Ron, Remus and Sirius dashed down the hallway and ducked into the first empty room the encountered. At the back was a large closet, and they all crowded inside. Fortunately it was a walk-in, but even so, Harry soon began to feel uncomfortably hot. Somehow, standing so close to Ron in a darkened closet made Harry flustered.

It turned out they were in the master bedroom, and Narcissa's form of distraction involved the oldest trick in the book. As a result, the foursome had to endure the sounds of uncreative love-making.

"No wonder Malfoy's gay," thought Harry as Narcissa moaned unconvincingly.

"At least this shouldn't take too long," said Remus, examining his watch. "Another few minutes and we should be free."

But Harry couldn't take it any more. "I've got to get out of this closet - it's stifling!" he whispered urgently.

Remus and Sirius gazed upon him with avuncular affection. Ron gripped his wand.

"We'll always be here for you, Harry," began Sirius, but Remus quickly cautioned him to be quiet. Things seemed to be slowing down in the bedroom.

Harry was amazed when Remus' prediction proved to be true. Based on his own limited experience, he had thought they'd be in the walk-in for hours, yet in merely fifteen minutes Lucius had left and Narcissa, too. At last they were free. His time in the closet had been well-spent, for Harry now was convinced they would find no clues at the Malfoy manor house relating to Draco's whereabouts.

"We've got to go to St Mungo's Hospital immediately!" he declared.


	3. Three is the Magic Number

Notes: Still all slash, all the time. If you don't want to read about Harry and Draco in a shower, or any place else together, you might want to mosey on back to the main page and read one of the other 12,000 Harry Potter stories available. Acknowledgements to the following for some inspired phrasing I've sampled here and there: De La Soul, Imperial Teen, Sandra B.(again), belated thanks to Ms Maney for some stylistic debts in part 2 and Mirielle92 for her keen detection abilities and as always to J.K. Rowling, who probably never imagined the places Harry might go.

Thanks also to those of you who've corrected my faulty Chinese. Sorry - just learning, and we all know where the heady thrills of new knowledge can take you. Maybe I need to get a new tutor who, in addition to teaching me useful phrases related to corporal punishment (always an ice-breaker at parties), can also beta-read Harry Potter slash! Enjoy.

HARRY POTTER AND THE FRIENDS OF DOROTHY

Part 3: Three is the Magic Number

"St Mungo's?" repeated Ron. He'd thought he knew Harry pretty well, but tonight his friend was acting very unpredictably.

"Yes." Harry dropped his voice to a whisper. "I think Lucius Malfoy has kidnapped his own son and had him institutionalized at St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies."

"But why?" Even Remus looked puzzled.

"Draco Malfoy is gay. His father disowned him and he's had to make a living in the Muggle world ever since. I think Lucius is trying to use the controversial Heteronormus charm on Draco to make him straight."

"Malfoy's gay?" Ron couldn't believe it. "How do you know?"

Harry bit his lip and looked first at Ron, then at Sirius. He hadn't wanted to tell them at all, and certainly not like this. Reminding himself that Draco's life could be at stake, Harry cleared his throat and said, "Sirius, Remus, Ron, I've got something to tell you."

The three others listened attentively as Harry described his evenings with Draco. Remus poked Sirius in the ribs and mouthed _I told you so_ but the other man shushed him. He looked at his godson with tears in his dark eyes. Who knew Harry was such a romantic that he'd risk his life to save Malfoy, even after the way that thoughtless little tramp had broken Harry's heart?

Ron, however, turned several shades of scarlet with rage over hearing of Draco's sluttish ways, and despaired that he hadn't been Harry's first. If only Harry had turned to him, he would never have had to endure such heartache.

After giving Harry a group hug, they agreed to go search the hospital.

"You're all very clever but there's no need for you to travel so far," came the chilling sound of Lucius Malfoy's voice. "Draco is here at home, where he belongs. He's had his treatment and I finally have the son I was meant to have - one who will marry and reproduce and continue to enlarge the Malfoy dynasty."

Peering into the eyes of Draco's father, Harry wished he hadn't been so quick to remove his Invisibility cloak, no matter how hot Ron was making him feel.

"You, Potter," hissed Lucius, "by your own admission you were the one to seduce my son into your deviant ways." 

"_I_ seduced _him_?" gasped Harry, shocked at the horrid way Lucius had twisted the tale of lust and betrayal.

But he had no time to correct Lucius' factual errors. Catching Harry off-guard, Lucius uttered a quick "Expelliarmus" and bound Harry in a manner than would have passed muster at Draco's place of employment.

"Narcissa!" Lucius screamed, and moments later his attractive blond wife was at his side. "Seize these men and see that they are properly tortured!" He commanded, then hefted Harry to his shoulder and stalked off. Harry's last glimpse of his friends was of them cornered in the bedroom, Narcissa Malfoy licking her lips and eyeing Sirius.

Shuddering at the thoughts of what might happen to his friends, Harry turned his attention to his own predicament. While it might not have been so bad to be bound and wandless with Draco, Draco's father was another matter.

"See for yourself how is he healed!" proclaimed Lucius, thumping Harry to the floor of Draco's bedroom.

With difficulty, Harry worked his way up to a standing position and looked at Draco. Harry had to stifle a cry of despair, for he had never seen Draco look so unkempt. Harry thought back to the odd phrase Draco had whispered to him at the Excalibur. From the looks of it, Mr Malfoy had more use for the beating part than the scolding part in dealing with his son.

Draco's gaze fell dully on Harry and dark circles showed under his eyes, just one of many tell-tale signs that he hadn't been moisturizing properly in the past few days.

"Potter?" he croaked feebly, and Harry felt himself melt a little hearing Draco say his name, even if it was his surname.

"You will observe how Draco shows not the slightest sign of interest in you," announced Lucius, apparently pleased to see his son looking gaunt and enfeebled. "In fact, I'm so certain of his full recovery I'm going to leave you here with him. Not that you could do anything," he added with a sneer at Harry's tight bonds.

As soon as Draco's father left, Harry hopped over to Draco's bedside. "Is it true?" he asked. "Was the Heteronormus charm effective?"

With great effort, Draco shook his head. "Did you really come here for me?"

Harry nodded. "But there's no time to talk about it now. We've got to get out of here. There's no telling what your mother might've done to Sirius by now."

Draco's eyes widened with alarm and he flipped back the blankets, seemingly filled with new strength. "Normally I'd like to keep you tied up like that but under the circumstances we can save it for later," he said with a return of his old wit. He seized his wand and freed Harry.

"Thanks." Harry rubbed at his wrists to try to bring back some feeling in his extremities. When he looked up he saw Draco still standing before him, apparently deep in thought. Even after a harrowing mental ordeal, Draco still could appear dashing, Harry realized, letting his eyes roam over Draco's muscular form. Then he remembered the urgency of their task. "Let's get out of here!"

Draco snapped back to attention. "What? Okay, just let me shower first and put on some clothes."

"But what if your father comes back?" Harry glanced about anxiously.

"I'll make it quick. Come on." Draco may have been tortured by his own father but he was making a speedy recovery, Harry noted as he found himself propelled into the bathroom. Draco quickly stripped off his own clothes and with a stroke of his wand had done the same to Harry.

Harry hesitated for a minute and watched Draco step into the steaming shower. He'd promised himself he wouldn't fall for Draco's seductive ways again, but surely one last time wouldn't hurt.

Just as both boys were working up a good lather, their bathing was interrupted when the door suddenly burst open. Harry peeked through the shower curtain expecting to see Lucius Malfoy, but the sight that greeted him was much worse. It was Ron.

And Sirius and Remus, who had the presence of mind to toss Harry a towel. "Much as I value personal hygiene, we've got only a few minutes to escape!" Remus told them. Spying Malfoy, he added, "Son, I'm sorry about your mother but we'll explain it all later. Let's go!"

Keeping his eyes averted from Ron's shocked face, Harry quickly dressed and they followed Remus, all of them now covered once again by the Invisibility cloak. Harry had never used it for such a large group before, and their progress was impeded by having to take such tiny, mincing steps. After clearing the security trolls, they agreed to remove the cloak and simply run for it.

Once reaching a safe distance from the Malfoy manor, they all Apparated back to Hampstead, where Ron busied himself glaring first at Draco, then Harry. "You don't appreciate Harry at all!" he yelled at Malfoy. "He's just the little whore _de jour_ for you!"

"Ron!" Everyone cried in unison.

But Ron wasn't finished. "And you, Harry - how could you step into that shower with him after the way he's treated you?"

Harry hung his head. He didn't know how to explain the strange urges that seemed to overtake him whenever he came near Draco.

Remus and Sirius exchanged looks. "Do you think?" began Sirius and Remus nodded. He strode to the fireplace, scattered some crystals and called out "Hermione? Cho? It's urgent!"

Seconds later the two girls appeared, looking concerned. "What is it, Remus?" asked Hermione.

Remus quickly explained the events of the last few weeks. Hermione nodded. Clearly the three boys needed a marathon consciousness-raising session to help them get in touch with their true feelings. Taking Cho's hand, she approached the three angry young men.

**

Meanwhile, Dean and Neville couldn't believe their eyes. Whatever was Narcissa Malfoy doing roaming the streets of Brighton, especially dressed like _that_? Neville could do nothing but pull at his Great Uncle Archie's sleeve and whimper.

"What is it, boy?" asked Archie, then saw for himself. Doing a double-take, he quickly herded the two boys away from her and drew a handkerchief across his brow.

Meanwhile, Muggles began to gather and point excitedly. "Look! It's Barbara Cartland!" someone exclaimed and a mob soon enveloped Narcissa.

"Neville," began Uncle Archie in a shaky voice, "You'd better alert Remus Lupin. Doesn't he work for the fashion police now?" Then he turned to Dean and looked grim. "Dean, I'm afraid it's up to you and me now. Much as I despise the Malfoys, no witch can be allowed to appear in public looking like that. It's just not decent."

**

Neville hurtled up the cobblestone path to Remus and Sirius' bungalow, his ermine stole streaking out behind him like a banner. After using the family Portkey to travel to Hampstead Heath, he'd run all the way to the house.

Without bothering to knock, he burst through the door, then came skidding to a halt. Ignoring the strange scene before him - which involved Harry, Ron, Draco, Cho and Hermione sitting in a circle - Neville addressed Remus Lupin.

"Remus? Drama!" he began, holding a hand to his heaving chest.

At the sound of his friend's voice, Harry stood up and broke away from the circle. "I thought you were in Brighton!" he cried.

"I was," Neville fluttered. "But something terrible has happened." With a worried glance at Draco, Neville leaned over and whispered into Remus' ear. The older man nodded and spoke quickly to Sirius, then swept out the door. Neville collapsed onto the velveteen loveseat, still trying to catch his breath. "What's going on?" he finally asked.

Cho stretched, stood up and came over to where he was sitting. "We're trying to help Harry, Ron and Draco work through their feelings of envy, lust and resentment," she explained, "but I'm afraid it's not working out. The monogamous model followed by Hermione and myself holds little appeal for Draco, and, I suspect, Harry."

Neville blinked and considered, all the while noting Cho's fashion-forward sense of style. Tonight she wore a mini-skirt that sat low on her hips and a midriff-baring halter top. Hermione glanced over at her girlfriend's nearly bare back and shivered - she _did_ enjoy a hot summer's night, especially when Cho dressed like this.

"Well, although Dean and I are committed to each other, we're certainly not exclusive," Neville offered, looking hopefully at the troubled group.

"There you go," agreed Malfoy, pleased.

But Harry remained unconvinced. "It's not necessarily that," he said slowly. "Frankly, I'm more worried about being an enabler if I become involved with you. You've got some serious abandonment issues to work through."

"I don't," Ron was quick to point out. "I come from a very stable home."

"I know, Ron," said Harry. "I think it's part of what I've always loved about you."

"What you - you love about me?" stammered Ron.

"I think I've loved you ever since I pulled you out of the lake during the Triwizard tournament," Harry continued. "But I sublimated my feelings because I never thought you'd return them. Until now," he added, beaming at Ron.

"You can't be in love with him - you just can't! _I'm_ the one who looks good in a wide variety of outfits!" cried Draco in dismay. "I know I haven't been completely honest with you, Harry, but I was afraid that if I told you how I really felt, you'd be turned off by my neediness."

"Easy, son." Sirius stepped forward and placed a hand on Draco's shoulder. "I think we've done all we can for now. Girls, I appreciate your help, but Draco has been through a terrifying ordeal at the hands of his own parents. He needs his rest."

Hermione and Cho nodded. "Good luck, Harry, Ron," Hermione said, giving each of her friends a hug before leaving.

Sirius turned to the other three. "We don't have to settle this all tonight. Neville has a point - monogamy isn't for everyone."

But Ron didn't seem to hear him. Buoyed by the knowledge that Harry cared for him, he happily Apparated back home, while Harry made his own way home, still lost in thought.

"Come on," offered Sirius, pulling Draco to his feet. "You can stay with us for a few weeks, get yourself sorted out." He fingered the spiked dog collar Remus had shoved into his pocket before leaving. From what Harry had told them, Draco could prove to be a real asset around the house.

**

A few weeks later Neville had returned for good from his holiday, and Draco had convalesced nicely at the home of Remus and Sirius. Harry suggested they all go to the Excalibur to see Neville's new show and everyone agreed this was a fabulous idea.

When Draco entered the club, all present turned and smiled appreciatively. They were glad to see their favorite S/M top was back in form. Sirius and Remus received a number of curious stares as well, and Remus had to keep a close eye on Sirius as the latter was pressed with countless offers of free drinks from strapping young lads. Narcissa Malfoy wasn't the only one who liked rugged, unavailable men.

Nobody paid much attention to Harry, Dean and Ron, who mingled easily with the high-spirited crowd. Draco pulled Dean to the dance floor, where they made a striking couple. Harry leaned his elbows against the table where he sat with Ron. They hadn't talked much since the night they freed Draco.

Harry studied Ron in the half-light of the club. Maybe he didn't have Draco's flashy looks or cut biceps, but there was something completely charming about his freckled nose and the way his surprisingly long eyelashes blinked rapidly whenever he was nervous, like now. Ron glanced up, feeling Harry's eyes upon him, and smiled.

"Want to dance?" he asked. Neville had taken the stage and was singing along to Sylvester.

"Sure." Harry took Ron's offered hand and followed him to the floor.

As usual, there was no extra space on the dance floor, and Ron and Harry found themselves dancing very close together. Harry didn't mind in the least, and edged a bit closer to Ron. "You know, this is the very first song I ever heard Neville perform," remarked Harry. "That night you didn't show."

Both of them turned involuntarily and watched as Neville crooned "_Baby now you're free and it's going to be alright, 'cos somewhere in this world you'll find true love tonight…_" He flicked back his trademark boa and pranced across the stage.

Ron smiled and placed his hands lightly on Harry's waist, pulling him closer. Lifting off Harry's glasses, Ron leaned forward and kissed him. Harry kissed back and would have continued much longer had Malfoy not "accidentally" jostled them.

"Oops, sorry," he grinned, not looking at all sorry.

Harry smiled back at him, then returned his gaze to Ron. Behind him, Dean had been pulled up on stage and danced enthusiastically with Neville. To their right, Sirius and Remus were getting down and Draco was surrounded by an admiring throng. And before him was Ron…Harry took his hand and pulled him out of the crowd. They twisted their way towards the backstage area. The music blared just as loudly, but there were fewer people and Harry took advantage of this. Grinding his hip against Ron, Harry set to work correcting six years of unrequited passion. However, overcoming repression of that long required more than kissing and Harry suggested moving to a certain locked cubicle in the toilet.

Ron shook his head with a small smile. "I'm not Malfoy, remember?" he said. "Come on." They headed towards the front door, stopping to wave goodbye to Sirius and Remus.

After apparating to Ron's bedroom, Harry felt suddenly abashed. Ron quickly conjured up rows of floating candles to illuminate the room, and unlike Malfoy's bed, Ron's was perfectly made and looked very inviting. In fact, Ron created an atmosphere as romantic as anything Harry could have imagined. Such thoughtfulness proved a powerful stimulant to Harry, who quickly overcame his initial shyness.

"Ron," said Harry, sitting up suddenly. His shirt was on the floor and his pants halfway off, but something had occurred to him that just couldn't wait. "Where were you that night we were supposed to meet? Why didn't you come see Neville?"

Ron covered his face with a pillow, but Harry reached over to remove it. Seeing he had no alternative, Ron told all. "Well, the same night you were getting dumped by your girlfriend, Justin Finch-Fletchley was doing the same with me," he confessed. "He'd always suspected how I felt about you and when he asked me if I was still in love with you, I just couldn't lie."

"Really?" Harry was touched. Then, remembering how he had ended that particular night, he felt a surge of remorse. "Ron, I'm sorry I slept with Draco like that. I - I wish it had been with you."

Ron grinned, feeling much more charitable now that Malfoy wasn't here. "Don't be sorry," he said. "The first time isn't all it's cracked up to be."

"That's true," realized Harry. He thought of the many things he had learned in his short time with Draco, and all the things he'd imagined doing with Ron. And this time _was_ special, he reminded himself, because it was his first time with Ron.

When Ron drifted off to sleep hours later, it was with the disturbing realization that he actually felt grateful to Draco Malfoy. There was definitely something to be said for experience. He was starting to understand what Harry might see in Malfoy - in fact, maybe he ought to reconsider his position on monogamy. _The more the merrier_, Ron thought sleepily. After all, who was he to argue with a cliché?

END


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